


A Lovely Night

by lilithqueen



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, everyone in fancy outfits at a fancy ball what more do you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 14:16:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7271644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithqueen/pseuds/lilithqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our team has returned as the Heroes of the Silent World, which means a fancy ball in their honor. Emil, for once, is in his element. Lalli is totally out of it, and very much displeased--especially because he still hasn't gotten around to telling Emil how he feels about him.</p><p>Co-starring grumpy, protective Onni, and Reynir being cute and useful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lovely Night

They were the Heroes of the Silent World. For them, no extravagance was too much, no price was too high. And for this, their introduction to Reykjavik high society, they were dressed to the nines, outshining even the members of the Nordic Council.

Lalli hated it passionately.

It was too loud, for one thing, and there were far too many people. And they all wanted to _talk_ to him; he and Onni were the only Finnish mages there, and he was painfully aware of being on display. Onni could glare them into leaving him alone, but it was somehow less intimidating when Lalli did it. Tuuri had already had to step in once and explain that it would look bad if he left. He didn’t really see why; surely it would look just as bad if he yelled at someone, and some of the reporters’ questions were rude enough that he nearly had.

At least the drinks were good, and he’d found a decent seat (half-hidden behind a potted tree where his gray suit would blend into the shadows) in which to enjoy his glass of beer. At this point in the evening, everyone was focused on the dance floor; nobody looked into the darkened corners, and so he was utterly alone. Even Emil hadn’t found him since their dinner had ended—when he’d sat beside him, trading quiet observations about the other guests with occasional brushes against Lalli’s arm that had set his nerves on fire. Now he was too busy _socializing_.

Lalli was starting to hate that, too.

Emil had been born to this sort of life, and it showed. His new suit—deep burgundy, set off by a white shirt so pristine it almost gleamed—had been expensively and exquisitely tailored to fit him, hinting at the solid muscles beneath without doing anything as ostentatious as clinging to them. He was a wonderful dancer, displaying all the grace he’d only rarely managed to bring to bear during their expedition; though part of Lalli enjoyed simply looking at him and the way his golden hair sparkled in the electric lights, the rest of him was steadily contorting with jealousy as he led a smiling girl in a flowing gown across the dance floor.  

The worst part, he thought, was that it could just as easily have been him in Emil’s arms. Emil had offered to teach him to dance—to teach all of them, in fact, since he was the only one that knew any of the precise, careful steps that high society called dancing. The rest of the team had taken him up on it happily enough (with the exception of Sigrun’s grumbling), but the thought of having to stumble over his own feet in front of _him_ had been enough for Lalli to spend those lessons hiding up a tree instead. He’d tried to avoid watching them; something in him ached to see Emil dancing with everyone else, even when they walked all over his toes.

 _I should have told him. I just thought there’d be more time_. Spring had come too quickly; he’d barely looked up and realized that the loud, messy Swedish cleanser had somehow carved out a place in his heart before the snow had started to melt and they’d been making their way back to civilization. Now he would go back to Keuruu and Emil would go back to Mora, and they’d be lucky if they saw each other at all before fall. Spring would be _endless_ as far as he was concerned, summer pure torture.

And there was certainly no way he could speak up now. He’d never get close enough, not with everyone dancing attendance on such a handsome, well-bred hero of the Silent World. No sooner did Emil release the girl he was dancing with than a young man took her place; even from here, Lalli could see how starstruck he seemed by him. _I wonder if he’d still be looking at Emil like that if I told him he snores and never takes less than half an hour to wash his hair._ The idea was tempting, but the thought of fighting with Swedish grammar to express it was enough to make him grimace into the remains of his beer. No, it wouldn’t be worth the effort, and Emil would probably be offended.

(And really, the snoring wasn’t _that_ bad, and Emil’s hair _was_ gloriously shiny and soft.)

With some effort, he tore his eyes away from Emil to check up on everyone else’s locations. Sigrun towered over the knot of socialites surrounding her, proudly rolling up the sleeve of her dress uniform to show off some of her fresh scars. (She’d refused Emil’s offer when he’d declared it time to take everyone shopping. Lalli couldn’t blame her; Emil planned shopping trips with more focus than any general’s military campaigns, and Lalli had half started wishing for a freak troll attack just to distract him.) Tuuri was difficult to spot in the crowd, but once he tilted his head and shifted his chair a bit he could see her standing with Mikkel and Siv in the middle of a circle of people who were at least good at _appearing_ interested in what they’d unearthed in the Silent World. Torbjörn was busy having a very serious-looking conversation with another man Lalli didn’t recognize—oh, no, that was Emil’s father. Ew.

(Unexpectedly meeting all of his friends’ parents had been one of the more unpleasant parts of the evening. Emil’s had shaken his hand and praised him effusively with smiles that didn’t even remotely reach the upper halves of their faces; Reynir’s had acted much nicer, but his lack of any language in common with them had left him lost. And the Eides were just _loud_.)

That left Onni—looming by the buffet tables, easy to find by his dress uniform—and Reynir. _Someone that tall with that much hair should not be so hard to find…oh._

He was dancing with Emil, and Lalli suddenly needed another drink. Something stronger than beer, preferably.

He tried not to look at them as he crept—no, slunk—no, _strode_ , dammit, he wasn’t out in the field anymore, trying to be stealthy would only attract more attention and he wasn’t wearing the right shoes anyway—towards the buffet tables. The alcohol needed two long tables all to itself, bottles and kegs almost hiding the white tablecloth from view; the sheer amount of choices was almost overwhelming. _What the hell is champagne and why is it bubbly?_

None of the labels were anything he recognized, but the open bottles made it fairly easy to go by smell. Vodka was safe enough; as he poured himself a reasonably sized glass, his eyes strayed towards the dance floor again.

Emil was radiant. He led Reynir across the floor with ease, smiling faintly at something the Icelandic mage was saying even though Lalli was absolutely sure that Reynir was managing to step all over his feet with his usual puppylike enthusiasm and complete lack of any grace whatsoever. If Reynir had any sense at all, he’d be praising his gods for Emil’s skill; it was probably the only reason he didn’t look like a gawky idiot. Well. Like _even more_ of a gawky idiot, if such a thing were possible.

Lalli took a sip of vodka, felt it burn all the way down, and sighed.

“Oh, Lalli.”

He blinked; he hadn’t realized Onni was that close. “Mrr?”

Now that he got a better look, he noticed the way his cousin was holding himself, noticed the shadows under his eyes and the hard set of his shoulders, the way his eyes flicked around the room. “How are you handling the party?”

He couldn’t stop the brief glance at the floor—yes, Emil was still dancing very happily with Reynir. _Ugh_. “Fine.” Oh, he was supposed to ask something. Right. “You?”

To his surprise, Onni’s eyes slid to the dance floor as well, narrowing faintly. “…It’s…not bad. Strange, but not bad. The food’s good. The company leaves a lot to be desired, though.”

Onni wasn’t looking in his direction, and he was glad for it; it meant that he probably wouldn’t notice the way his eyes kept wandering back to Emil. He’d only ever told Onni the Swede was his _friend_ , after all, and admitting that he would like anything more would only open him up to a whole swarm of unwelcome questions. “I don’t like all these weird rich people either.”

Onni glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “The Västerströms used to be some of those weird rich people. They’re tolerable enough.”

Reynir was beaming at Emil. Lalli wanted to spit. “Mrr.”

“You don’t think so? I thought you said Emil was your friend.”

 _Fuck_. He took a sip of vodka before nodding. “He’s okay. His parents are weird; they don’t smile right. And I don’t think Emil likes them much. He’s barely talked to them at all.”

Onni’s voice held an edge. “He seems like he’s been very busy since he’s gotten here.”

Lalli cast a quick glance at him and blinked. He’d assumed Onni was glaring at Emil with the suspicion he usually reserved for any of his cousins’ unknown friends, but as he followed his line of sight he realized that the glare was instead focused on Reynir, and wasn’t nearly as wary as it usually was. _If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looks…jealous. But that’s ridiculous._

He paused to consider that possibility. Objectively, he could at least admit that Reynir wasn’t bad-looking, even with his stupid fluffy hair, and it was at least plausible that he could occasionally manage not to annoy anyone for whole hours at a time. But…really. Onni had the _worst_ taste. “Reynir? You’re kidding.”

He had the pleasure of watching Onni turn red. “What _about_ Reynir?”

“Mmh.” The song ended; the musicians struck up another one. He didn’t bother waiting to see who Emil would dance with next.

Standard operating procedure always called for one thing when entering a room—taking note of all available exits. Thus, Lalli had quickly learned that the heavy tapestries lining the walls hid doors that opened onto balconies overlooking the city; they wouldn’t be very useful as escape routes unless he really needed one and had the chance to rig up some climbing ropes, but they worked just fine as a source of privacy.

The air was cold. Vodka helped. As he leaned his elbows on the railing and sipped slowly at his glass, ignoring the way the stone froze through his suit jacket, his mind wandered back to the expedition. _Onni would die on the spot if he knew, but…I would rather be back there._

Yes, the Silent World had been terrifying and dangerous; they’d all come back with fresh scars, new nightmares, and—in his case, at least—a strong desire to never even smell carrot stew again. But it had been beautiful, too, and sometimes even peaceful. Emil had quickly made himself into a very welcome presence, all smiles and gentle touches and halting, stumbling Finnish; when he’d first thrown himself between Lalli and a rampaging giant, Lalli couldn’t even stay furious at his stupidity. Not when he’d been so fiercely earnest about it—not when he fussed over him afterwards, making sure he was unharmed and immaculate before even noticing the state of his own injuries. Lalli had had to help him scrub solidified troll gunk out of his hair.

In retrospect, he thought maybe that had been when it had happened. Emil had yelped when he’d accidentally pulled his hair; huffing, he’d sank his hands gently into it instead, and Emil had _sighed_. At the time, he’d put down the sudden lurch in his chest to a bit of ill-timed revenge on the part of Mikkel’s cooking, but it had never entirely went away. Emil would look at him, or pet his hair, or wordlessly cover him with his own jacket when everything was just too much, and he’d almost think—

Well. It didn’t really matter what he thought, because Emil had turned out to be witty and charming and popular once he was placed in a proper social setting, and even if he was interested in Lalli (gods, please let him be interested), it couldn’t be more than a flickering spark next to the intoxicating bonfire of fame and wealth he’d set out into the Silent World to attain. Lalli wasn’t that lucky. Sighing, he gazed out over the city lights.

Footsteps behind him—expensive, hard-soled shoes on stone tiles, the gait of someone who was trying very hard to be light on his feet and failing miserably. “Oh, hey. There you are.”

Fleetingly, he wondered about the likelihood of climbing down from the balcony bare-handed. “Hnnh.”

He focused on a house below them, feeling rather than seeing as Emil came up next to him, voice quiet. “I couldn’t find you; I was wondering where you were.”

“Ah…” His gaze slid to where Emil’s hand rested on the railing next to his arm. “Were you?”

Emil stiffened. “Yes! I…I know you don’t like crowds or loud noises. I was a little worried.”

He huffed through his nose. “You don’t…have to worry. I’m fine. _You_ were having fun.” The accusatory snap in his voice made him wince as soon as the words were out; it wasn’t as if he had any right to be jealous.

“My feet are killing me.” Emil shifted closer, almost near enough to touch him. “And, you know…it kind of sucks in there. I’m…probably not gonna get to do what I wanted to do.”

Lalli risked turning his head. Emil wasn’t looking at him; his gaze was focused somewhere on the horizon. “What?”

Emil’s face went red. “Well. You don’t like to dance, so…”

 _The gods love me_. He knocked back a bigger swallow of his vodka than he’d planned; it burned, but at least it cured the sudden dryness in his mouth. “You didn’t ask me.”

Emil flinched, glancing away. “Did—did you want me to?”

His heart seemed to have lodged itself somewhere in his throat. “Maybe. But I…can’t dance. You should have someone—someone fancy, like that.” He gestured uselessly in the direction of the ballroom behind them, cursing himself and the entire Swedish language. There was no way for him to explain what he meant in a sensible manner; Emil was rich and important and clearly loved it, and he definitely couldn’t compete against that.

Emil took a breath, turning back to him. “Lalli?”

Something in his tone made him flinch, but he made himself look Emil in the face anyway. He was strong. He could handle this. “Mrr?”

Even if Emil’s eyes were very dark and very serious. “Why would I pick _that_ ,”—he waved a hand at the ballroom—“over you? Why would I pick _anything_ over you?”

 _Oh_. Lalli was suddenly very glad he was still resting one arm on the balcony; the world seemed to tilt at Emil’s words. He wondered if it were possible to melt with too much emotion. At a loss, he said the first thing that came into his mind. “I thought you were going back to Mora after this.”

Emil moved. It didn’t take much; a twitch, and his hand came to rest on top of Lalli’s. “…I…don’t want to go back alone. And I thought maybe…um. If you wanted to. We could go there together? Maybe? I don’t know if maybe you wanted to go back to Keuruu instead but I don’t—we could always write, I swear I’ll practice my Finnish, but—I’d _miss_ you—”

He thought his heart might burst. Some small, still-sensible part of his mind was smugly pointing out that he’d had nothing to worry about after all; Emil clearly _did_ like him. The rest of his mind seemed to have gone blank except for a single thought, one clear path of action sharp as a knife.

Unfortunately, Emil was still babbling. “I’m sorry, I know this is really shitty timing, but I didn’t want to say goodbye to you like this—I didn’t want to say goodbye to you _at all_ —”

He set his glass aside, leaning in. This close, even in the darkness, he could see the way Emil’s eyes widened before flicking to his lips, and it made him shiver. “Emil, _shut up_.”

Shock filtered into his expression, but Lalli didn’t let it take hold.

“Kiss me.”

Emil made a strangled sound, but—to Lalli’s considerable relief—he didn’t need to be told twice. His spare hand came to rest gently on Lalli’s hip as he closed the scant distance between them, kissing him almost chastely. _Almost_ ; there was too much heat for that, and when Lalli pressed himself bodily against him and slid a hand into his hair, he made a noise very close to a growl. It was thrilling; Lalli wanted more, couldn’t resist the urge to deepen the kiss and somehow wasn’t surprised when Emil slid his arm around his waist to hold him tightly.

When they finally separated for air, Emil’s voice was rough. “I thought I’d never get to do that.”

Lalli sucked in a breath. “You should have done it before.” Emil hadn’t let go of him; he was sure he never wanted him to.

And he was smiling. “Can I make up for lost time?”

In answer, Lalli kissed him again. _Yes_ , he wanted to say, and _we could have been doing this all winter_. It was probably a good thing for his dignity he only had one mouth and Emil was determined to keep it occupied, because the feelings running through him were too powerful to express in words without sounding ridiculous. As long as Emil was kissing him, words were unnecessary anyway; he clung to him like a lifeline, barely breaking away before pressing his mouth to Lalli’s again.

Heavy fabric rustled. He barely noticed it; Emil had let go of his hand to caress the nape of his neck, and he purred in pleasure and melted into it.

“Lalli Hotakainen, _what are you doing?”_

Onni’s voice was like a bucket of ice water on his spine; hissing, he jerked away from Emil (who, he was pleased to note, looked gloriously flushed and rumpled) and spun to glare at his cousin. “I am _busy_ —oh.”

He had company. Reynir was beet red and seemed to be trying to hide behind him, but it wasn’t working well. Part of it was his height, but the other part was that he seemed to be unwilling to let go of Onni’s hand. Lalli smirked. “You were looking for privacy too?”

Onni turned crimson. “That—that is _totally_ besides the point. What are you…” Seemingly speechless, he gestured at Emil.

Lalli cast a quick glance at his—friend? _boyfriend_ , maybe—out of the corner of his eye. Emil’s fight-or-flight reflex seemed to be having trouble deciding on the best course of action, but his hand had slid to rest at the small of Lalli’s back, so that was alright. “I like him. What’s the problem?”

“What’s the—he’s a godless Swede and his family is _awful_ and he _doesn’t even speak Finnish_ —”

He raised an eyebrow. “Neither does Reynir, and that’s not stopping you.”

Onni choked. “Reynir is—he’s—”

He was, in fact, clearing his throat and saying something in Icelandic. Judging by Onni’s indignant-sounding reaction, he wasn’t impressed. Undeterred, Reynir continued; Lalli didn’t need to understand Icelandic to read his body language, and the way he was petting Onni’s fingers spoke volumes.

As did the way Onni’s posture softened when he looked at him, listening patiently until Reynir was done and he turned to glare at Lalli again. His gaze was tired, though, and Lalli knew he’d won. “Fine. But if he ever hurts you…”

Lalli pointedly shifted to lean against Emil. “He won’t.”

Onni looked Emil up and down appraisingly. “Hrmph.”

And then Reynir tugged on his arm, and they left.

For what felt like an eternity, Lalli stood with Emil in silence. He wasn’t sure what to do; it was a feeling he hated, but there was no avoiding it. It wasn’t the first time Onni had interrogated any of his partners, but none of them had been _Emil_ —who looked like he wanted to melt into the floor, and Lalli briefly hated his cousin when he saw the look on his face. “It’s okay.”

Emil let out a nervous little giggle; when he found words, his voice wavered. “I almost understood some of that. He doesn’t approve, does he?”

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but smile. “He’ll understand. You’re mine now. _He_ shouldn’t say anything; did you see him and Reynir?”

“I was a little more worried that Onni was going to punch my lights out—” Realization slowly dawned. “ _No_. How—what—how did they even meet—is this some weird mage thing? It’s a mage thing, isn’t it.”

Emil really was adorable when he was flustered. Lalli found himself distinctly smug that he’d caused it. “Mm-hmm. So. Now what do you want to do?”

He took a breath, stroking Lalli’s back with his knuckles. Already, he looked less flustered, eyes turning serious where they rested on him. “Right now? I’ve had enough of that party in there for now. I want to kiss you again.”

Lalli smirked happily at him. “ _Good_.”

And so he did, long and lingering; when he pulled away, it was only to breathe “Yours?” into the space between them before going back for another.

He sighed contentedly at the thought. “ _Yes_.” And then he tangled his hands in Emil’s hair again, and before long they’d entirely lost track of how many times they’d sighed the same word.

They made their way back inside eventually, hand in hand. Emil did not reintroduce him to his parents as his boyfriend, which was good.

(Reynir could not keep a secret, which was less good. Tuuri proceeded to take Emil aside for a quiet conversation, at the end of which Emil immediately poured himself a shot of whiskey and drank it so quickly that he coughed. Lalli decidedly did _not_ want to know what she’d said to him.)

 


End file.
